Never have I been embarrassed by a story as I was when I first heard this one. No, it’s not like I’m telling someone else’s story. The thing is that this is my own story, one I could barely remember to the point where it had to be re-told by my friends. Not a single dance or party went by without someone telling me about this. I recall bits and pieces of it, but it’s almost like my own personal version of “Memento.”
Here are the bits I remember clearly. My friends and I went out to a club to drink and dance until our bodies gave in. We did some shots and had some submarines, so far so good.
Things start to get weird after the guys from the group took us to a party to drink and dance some more. So much more in fact, that I start to lose the trail of how things go and wake up the next morning with a messed up leg.
My friends filled in the gap quite nicely for me. We were at a small party that a guy from our class had put together as an excuse to drink. I had a crush on him so I convinced the girls to go so I had back up. Once we were at the party things went wrong pretty fast.
I was so nervous that I started drinking a bit more than the recommended dosage. I apparently got hammered on a sweet cocktail and then made an ass out of myself. How? Well, I took to the dance floor with this guy and we started grinding. I remember a few bits of it, but the girls love saying that I went into full slut-mode.
Not content with grinding we took to a more active dance. And this ladies and gentlemen is the highlight of the story. The one bit I will never live down. Another girl started showing off by doing splits. I don’t know how well that goes with dancing, but then again my consciousness was not with me at this point.
Feeling like I had to prove my worth I told my friends I would show her how it’s done. I can remember a bit of this, if only because of the intense pain. I tried doing a split but my heel got caught on the carpet, causing my ankle to twist as I hit the ground.
All of the events are a mix between my broken memories and my friends’ story. Though I have to admit it’s pretty hard to call them liars. Especially when I woke with a horrible hangover and with an icepack on my ankle, not to mention all the funny looks I got from the guy I was crushing on.
It appears that the only lasting impression I left was a face-shaped one on his floor. Though my friends continue to be dicks about it and say I created a long lasting memory. One they will never, ever forget.